


Home Comforts

by barghest



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Americanisms, Cheese, Community: hannibalkink, Dogs, Fluff, M/M, damnit i knew there was a tag for the kinkcomm here somewhere, jeepers creepers is on tv right now for like the 50th time this week so help me ok, sorry this is just pure fluff and hannibal having a miserable time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barghest/pseuds/barghest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An early winter blizzard leaves Hannibal trapped at Will's home (who is woefully unprepared for either event) and he is introduced to the finer things in life, which are not really that fine at all.<br/>(Hannibal kinkmeme fill, more details inside, lots of fluff, fluff, fluff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Comforts

**Author's Note:**

> this is murderously fluffy and i had a good time ok. the prompt is from here: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/4963.html?thread=8138851! i hope the person likes it \o/ i apologize for people who might've wanted like....more hannigram-ish stuff in this, but i felt like cutesy slow burn, gentle hannibal was the way to go. kudos n comments always appreciated!

_**Friday, 7:02pm** _

Hannibal Lecter is a man of many pleasures, and spending time with objects of his desire is chief among them - particularly objects with dark curly hair and windswept cheeks, bathed in the aroma of wet dog hair and sea air. He likes to spoil such objects, and it is spoiling that he does to Will on a Friday after work, uncorking a bottle of white wine whilst Will hovers at the stove, fussing over two steaks.

"Nearly done," Will sniffs a little, pushing his glasses further up his nose, frowning just a little as the lenses fog up. The plates are already prepared beside him; an assortment of earthy vegetables and salad that Hannibal had watched Will wash earlier, rough fingers gently scrubbing away the dirt before chopping them. Will's culinary style is more rustic than his own, but it's wholesome and Will tries his best not to burn anything. Tonight, he's successful, and he joins Hannibal at the table, smile shy and directed at his own lap as he starts to eat.

"You rate yourself so low, Will," Hannibal presses his cutlery into the steak, his contribution to the meal aside from the wine, "this is simply divine." He catches Will blushing a little into his food, and offers him a warm smile. "I should trust you in the kitchen a little more, in future."

Neither notice the snow start to fall outside.

_**Friday, 11:34pm** _

"Ah, dear," they hover on the porch with tea, Hannibal in his long coat, Will wrapped up in an old dressing gown. Hannibal lifts his mug to his lips, breath misting in the air in front of him as he surveys the drifts of snow edging up the porch steps, "perhaps I should have left a little earlier."

Will shakes his head a little, dogs snuffling at his feet, "it's okay. My fault for not checking the weather." He wraps his arms around himself, shuffling a little closer to the doctor, "you won't get anywhere in that, especially not at this time of night. Do, do you…," he swallows a little, and for a moment the image of a sleepy Will wandering around in just boxers flashes before Hannibal's eyes. Boxers and maybe one of Hannibal's shirts, he amends, it is quite chilly after all.

"Want to stay over?," he completes for Will, who looks up at him, nodding just a little. "Of course I do, if you have the room." Will's smiles for him are always shy, but through this one, he sees the glimmer of teeth before Will crouches down to scratch behind the ears of a couple of the dogs. (It is quite the exciting prospect, if Hannibal is honest; previously Will has stayed over at his, tentative to borrow a dressing gown from his sort-of psychiatrist in the mornings, rubbing sleep from his eyes over breakfast.)

"There'll be room, I promise," Will leads him back inside, dogs swarming their heels as they finish packing away the evening. The washing up, Will declares, can be saved for the morning - instead he takes Hannibal's sleeve, then hand, and leads him to the other side of the house. Hannibal relishes the new scenery - perhaps not the chill growing in the air - of the bedroom, the scent of Will stronger here than the rest of the house. He sweats a lot in his sleep, Hannibal is already aware, but the sheets are fresh and clean and plaid, the bed rustic and sturdy.

Will chews his lip in the dim lighting - the snow glows in the moonlight outside so they don't bother to turn on the bedside light - and strips slowly, boxers and vest left on before he digs in a door for pyjama pants. Hannibal is respectful to turn away as they both change (their relationship is a slow burner, intimate moments treasured, privacy a thing Will silently askes for much of the time). Eventually, he receives a tap on the shoulder.

Holding up a t-shirt, Will looks a little sheepish, "you might get cold in just that," he offers it forward, both of them quite aware of Hannibal's tradition of sleeping in just his underwear. In the moonlight, Hannibal can make out a dog's face emblazoned on the front of the shirt, a speech bubble coming off of it reading "Boof!". He raises a brow, but pulls it on. "Might be a little tight," Will adds, watching him carefully.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll manage," Hannibal gives him a sly wink, before climbing into bed.

_**Saturday, 4:56am** _

Hannibal snaps awake, the pressure on his bladder intense, legs shaking a little from the exertion of holding it in - if he was more uncouth, he would declare this the most extreme piss of his life - but he is collected, he is composed, he feels _incredibly_ like his lower body is a water balloon that's just been sat on.

_Sat on._

Hannibal tilts his chin onto his chest - meeting the eyes of a large dog, shuffling up on his chest. Something begins to thump between his thighs as the dog realises he's awake, and Hannibal blinks a little, the weight on his midsection shifting a little as the dog wriggles closer, paws pressing onto his shoulders. He tries to sit up, but Winston (he believes it to be Winston) crawls closer, tail thwacking against Hannibal's leg as he approaches.

"Stop that," Hannibal puts a hand up to push Winston off, but the dog merely slobbers on his hand, " _stop_." Winston woofs quietly, licking in between Hannibal's fingers - he hisses at the dog a little, not wanting to wake Will, who is slumbering on his other arm, but it's to no avail. Winston wiggles closer, easing off Hannibal's bladder and onto his chest, warm tongue reaching Hannibal's cheek. " _Winston!_ "

Will makes a noise in his sleep and both freeze, Winston blinking in the dark as his master rolls over, hugging Hannibal's arm tighter. His nose press into Hannibal's shoulder, Will swallows in his sleep, before settling down again.

"…Winston," Hannibal starts again, but the dog continues to crawl up him, licking at his face until Hannibal relents and pats at him awkwardly. Delighted, the canine digs his nose into Hannibal's neck, snuffling in his ear a bit before settling down. Hannibal stares at the ceiling for a good half hour before sleep tugs at him again, the wind beginning to pick up outside.

_**Saturday, 10:12am** _

"Hannibal… _Hannibal_ …" The doctor does not wish to rise - but a soft voice in his ear drags him back to consciousness, the scratch of Will's stubble on his cheek pulls at him, and Hannibal blinks himself awake slowly, body heavy. Bleary eyed, Hannibal turns to kiss Will good morning, frowning slightly as his lips brush a wet nose. Propped up on an elbow, the other side of Winston, Will chuckles quietly.

"Will," Hannibal frowns a little, admonishing him with a look as he pulls his face out of the path of Winston's oncoming tongue.

" _Hannibal_ ," Will's lips curl in amusement, glasses a little crooked on his nose. "Morning, finally." He extends a hand to pet an unseen dog, comfortable to lounge for a little longer, looking over Hannibal's form with bemusement.

Hannibal looks down, past Winston - his shirt has bunched up in the night, the hem rubbing up against his nipples rather uncomfortably (not in a good way either) - and sighs a little, "a good morning to you too, Will. What time is it?"

"Just gone ten," Will stretches, "I've already walked the dogs, they're just here for the company." _Company?_ Hannibal frowns a little, and forces himself upright, Winston sliding onto his lap as he surveys the lumpy mass of the bed. A small terrier looks up and yaps at him, ears floppy as it rests in between Hannibal's knees. One hand trying to tug down the make shift crop top encasing his upper body, he tries to shift his legs - no use, the smell of wet dog permeates the air and his legs are trapped, a myriad of paws digging into his calves.

"Are you going to free me?," Hannibal nods to the dogs, quickly becoming aware that his underwear has wedged itself quite uncomfortably into his behind. His t-shirt refuses to be pulled down, despite his best efforts. The eyes of the dog printed upon it stare up at him judgementally. 

In reply, Will leans over and gently scratches Winston under his chin, before clicking his tongue, nudging at furry bodies. Like an ocean swell, more dogs that Hannibal previously counted rise from both on top of and under the covers, snuffling slightly as they empty off of the bed. One stops to push its head into Will's hand, licking at his fingers - Hannibal makes a note to have Will wash before he touches him - before jumping down. They leave a cloud of hair in their wake, and Hannibal makes another note to buy Will a better vacuum.

_**Saturday, 12:21pm** _

They make a late brunch - or, more accurately, Hannibal emerges from the shower to squeeze himself into a pair of Will's boxers, only to find the curly haired man inspecting a rather bare fridge and woefully understocked cupboards.

"I'm afraid I wasn't expecting winter to roll in for a bit longer," Will glances over his shoulder in greeting, a dog making an attempt to chew on his slippers. He pulls out a half loaf of bread and looks at it critically, "did you find anything to fit you?"

"I suppose so," still holding the bread as Hannibal edges further into the room, Will turns fully and cannot help a laugh - Hannibal is not sure what amuses the shorter man more, the ludicrously ugly Christmas sweater (a badly knitted reindeer with googly eyes on the front, sadly disguising a plain and quite smart shirt) or the pyjama pants, finishing a couple of inches above Hannibal's ankles. A design of blue hedgehogs wearing red shoes cover them, but Hannibal has to admit they are most soft.

"You're always the height of fashion," Will is still full of mirth, running a hand through his hair as he looks him up and down. "Are you warm?"

"I am that, yes," Hannibal's voice is grave - he almost longs for the return of the awful shirt from last night.

Will's smile is broad, but he moves on, "I don't really…have a lot of food in, how does a grilled cheese sound?" Hannibal shrugs resignedly and joins him at the stove, leaning over Will's shoulder as he warms it up. After a little while, his face creases into a reptilian frown.

"What…what is that?"

"This?," Will wiggles a pale yellow square, the sound similar to that of wobbling laminated paper, "it's cheese."

"That is not _cheese_ ," if Will was to look over his shoulder, he would see an expression close to terror adorn the doctor's face. 

"Might not look like what you're used to, but it's just cheese," Will shrugs, lining slices of bread with the bizarre substance, before sandwiching them together and placing them on the grill. "Not all of us can afford such high end _stilton_ as yourself, Dr. Lecter." They melt like plastic under the heat, globules freeing themselves to travel over the bread crusts, and Hannibal is forced to watch in horror as the cheese-like substance welds itself to the toast. Will appears unbothered at this development.

"I am afraid I refuse to believe that is cheese," the doctor shields himself behind Will, his composure beginning to slip a little.

"S'just packaged a little differently, that's all," Will flips the bread over, grilling the other side, continuing to be unperturbed. "It'll be fine." _Trust me_ , his eyes say as he takes two plates of grilled cheese to the couch, and Hannibal chooses to place a little trust in him for today, dubiously letting his fingers take a plate.

_**Saturday, 5:45pm** _

"I am afraid that I may have lost a filling to _brunch_ ," Hannibal inspects his mouth in the bathroom mirror, a pair of tweezers fiddling with something stuck between his wisdom teeth. In the bedroom, Will picks through his wardrobe, sweatpants hanging low on his hips (Hannibal knows, he's checked around the door, he may even have loosened the knot in the front of the drawstrings when Will was preoccupied with dogs).

"You're fine, I'm sure," Will appears at the bathroom door, holding a dressing gown, "please take that off."

Hannibal raises a would-be eyebrow, "not the most seductive way I have ever been asked to strip, Will."

"Just that, that awful jumper," Will's eyes slide to the floor, cheeks reddening a little, "it's been staring me in the eye all day, you could've just. Borrowed a dressing gown, I've got a couple, Christmas gifts…"

"And this, a birthday present?," Hannibal is obedient, trading the awful jumper for the garment in Will's hands. They try to wrangle the television into working, but it had started to snow again just after midday and all they get is static - static and Will's much depleted DVD collection. (A tiny part of Hannibal feels bad for falling asleep during _All Dogs Go To Heaven_ , but he wakes to it snowing again and Will's head on his shoulder, fingers tangled with his own.

Will is sleepy when he delves in the cupboard for dinner, "how does mac n' cheese sound?"

Hannibal almost brightens, the thought of something more palatable than what they dined on earlier cheering him a little, "sounds divine." Perhaps Will has some spices, or even a form of cheese that does not come in flimsy, neon slices.

Alas, Will holds up a box labelled Kraft, that rattles ominously when shook. Hannibal's expression is decidedly sour.

"Just add water," Will forges on regardless of his partner's expression, "simple." He feels Hannibal behind him, the older man's hands ghosting over his hips, "shouldn't take long. Sorry I don't have much."

"What about spices?," Hannibal's voice is hopeful, nose tilted up away from the smell of synthetic cheese that floods his nostrils for the second time today. "I could bring out the…flavour, with a few extra ingredients. It wouldn't take much, Will." He leans on Will a little, nose turning to Will's hair.

"I've got pepper, but that's about it.

Hannibal is positively crestfallen, "any cured meats I could add to the mix? I could cut up a little rabbit, sauté it, add it in." Will shakes his head. "Left over vegetables from last night?"

"Was supposed to go grocery shopping this weekend," Will stirs the macaroni, which makes an awful yet strangely familiar squishing sound, "all I have is a few cans and some dog food."

"I see," Hannibal nods, staring at the concoction in front of Will, "I _see_."

_**Saturday, 10:24pm** _

"Maybe they might have spread grit tomorrow," Will strokes a dog with one hand, and combs through Hannibal's hair with the other. They are wedged together - no complaining about that - as a large dog curls against the curve of Hannibal's spine, and the rest nest around them.

"Perhaps," Hannibal closes his eyes, a fleece nightshirt to match the blue hedgehog pyjama bottoms barely fitting over his chest, "perhaps." 

"Might have soup, tomorrow."

"Soup? _Soup?_ We could eaten that today, my dear Will. _Today_." Hannibal's voice is barely a mumble now, Will's fingers grazing his forehead, "anything, I would have preferred, without cheese in it." In the darkness, Will smiles.


End file.
